"She regarded her own directorial career as an unconventional choice for a woman."
--Barbara Sharres, Art Institute of Chicago
"Even though she was one of the most famous women directors, she shrugged off such compliments, especially the feminist tag. Ida could have easily directed more features but I don't think she promoted herself enough."
--Harry Mines, drama critic
IDA LUPINO IS AN odd figure in a very foreign land: a woman director in Hollywood. Her directorial-debut film Not Wanted (1949) offers an unusual perspective for the time: that of a woman. A contemporary of Fritz Lang and Dorothy Arzner--one of the handful of female film directors of that era--Lupino has impacted contemporary filmmakers and critics like Martin Scorsese (who admits it) and Molly Haskell (who doesn't). Even notorious violence-monger Sam Peckinpah has a connection; not only did he direct Lupino in Junior Bonner (1972), but his career started as dialogue coach for Private Hell 36 (1954)--cowritten by Lupino and Collier Young. Lupino's own directorial style has been compared with Robert Aldrich and Samuel Fuller.
Oddly, though, most websites and articles illuminate only one facet of this fascinating pioneer: her acting. And, with TV appearances spanning twenty years--from 1956 to 1976, including the sinister Dr Faustina in "Wild, Wild West" ("Night of the Big Blast", episode #6604)--and over seventy nuanced film roles from the early 30s to late 70s, bridging crime, comedy, drama, film noir, musical, and western, Lupino is a Hollywood star of no small magnitude. Nonetheless, it is a glaring oversight. For, as a few writers are bringing to light, Ida Lupino worked on both sides of the camera:
Films Lupino starred in: Both Sides of the Screen (1) by Charles Nafus, The Austin Chronicle
Films Lupino directed: Both Sides of the Screen (2) by Cassandra Knobloch, The Austin Chronicle
In the Director's Chair
From the mid-1950s, according to an uncredited online biography, Lupino directed over 100 TV episodes. Still, a rough count at the site "visited by over 20 million movie lovers each month!" brings to light Lupino's work on only twenty-three TV series, though some involve multiple episodes. There is, however, agreement on the more well-known TV shows with her fingerprints: "Gilligan's Island" (1964), "Bewitched" (1964), "The Fugitive"--three episodes (1963), "The Virginian" (1962), "The Twilight Zone"--"The Masks" (1959), "Have Gun Will Travel"--multiple episodes (1957), "Screen Directors Playhouse" (1955), and "Alfred Hitchcock Presents" (1955).
Before this move into directing for TV, Lupino directed six films--adding The Trouble with Angels in 1966. (Notably, this film is the only comedy, and the only film having major studio backing and a comparably larger budget.) With the previous film as an exception, Lupino's projects were Independent features, most made through The Filmmakers group. Confined outside the Hollywood machine of the 40s and 50s, note the "B" label stamped on Lupino's films. Obscure films like Outrage (1950) and Never Fear (1950), aka The Young Lovers, are as challenging to find as each film's subject matter (ie, rape and polio, respectively). Aside from the director's final film release and Hard, Fast and Beautiful (1951), three films are widely available: Not Wanted (1949), The Bigamist (1953), and The Hitchhiker (1953). Although Lupino multi-tasked on many of her projects as writer, producer and/or actor, I will spotlight her as director.
More on Lupino and these three films: Her Two Lives: Ida Lupino, Queen of the Bs by Rob Nelson, Nashville Scene
Spotlight on Not Wanted (1949)
Backstory: When Elmer Clifton suffered a heart attack on the first day of filming, Lupino stepped in to direct the project. She didn't request a director's screen credit, however, though her name appeared as producer and writer. The Breen office, implementers of the infamous Hayes' Production Code, rejected Lupino's original title: Unwed Mothers. Along with this, the censors noted other violations: "...it was not good to indicate an actual precise 'point of contact' between Steve and Sally"; further, "the actual use of the word 'pregnancy' may be deleted by some political censor boards. We suggest that you find a somewhat less pointed substitute" (p 149, Ida Lupino: A Biography). Still, Lupino spoke positively about working with the Breen office. Despite these initial conundrums and mixed critical reviews, the film that cost $150,000 grossed around $1,000,000.
Plot Brief: An unwed mother leaves her parents and old life behind while trying to make the best decisions for herself and her baby.
A Vulnerable Choice
There's something about placing trust in another person that's beyond your control. Sally's learned that the hard way--by being betrayed. So, she tries to take control and make wise decisions--like her mother, cooly, cautioned her towards. At the same time, Sally wants to protect those she loves from her own stigma. Especially Drew, the gas station attendant who proposes to her, not knowing of her pregnancy. He's an honest, compassionate person--and a war veteran. Surely he 'deserves' someone better. Thus, Sally is intent to make her decisions alone. Yes, it is a tad sadistic. On the other hand, it shows incredible maturity--compared to the rash choices she made previously (eg, sleeping with Steve, a dashing flatterer; following him to another city; expecting him to marry her).
Sally fears if she tells Drew the truth, he will chivalrously offer to marry her and take in the child. She'll never know how much it was for love's or pity's sake. And, she won't know if she married him for her own safety and security, or mutual trust and support. Sally thinks she has many reasons to condemn herself--looking only at one poor past decision and not at any forthcoming ones: carrying the baby, physically caring for herself, putting the baby up for adoption. But, Drew doesn't condemn her. Instead, he sees how much Sally has grown in herself. And, he allows her to see that he wants and needs her. For me, the power in this vulnerability is reflected clearly in the film's most poignant scene--the final one.
A Scene in Focus
Drew has desperately chased Sally through the city streets to the train station. They race up the stairs. Drew struggles more and more to keep up--calling her name. The train whistle blows as he clutches his leg; that old war injury. He falls to the ground--beaten. His fists clench.... Sally's choice here is clear: reject needing / being needed by someone, or embrace it. Paradoxically, Drew's unadorned vulnerability is the only thing that can pierce Sally's heart. In the preceding months, she's become painfully aware of her own need--for shelter, for aid in decisions, for regaining self-respect. But, in this moment, she realizes it is not that Drew's trying to protect her because she's weak, or unable to make decisions on her own. He could have come forward at the adoption agency--intruding on her boundaries--if he'd thought that. But, Drew wants to love her, and be loved. So, he does a marvelous thing; he ... waits.
In his waiting, Drew is poised to capture Sally's attention. He's done this before, with his innocent, child-like play: constructing his detailed train set and watching the spinning carousel. With his gentle friendship: sharing a soda pop in the back of a truck. And, now, with his arresting powerlessness. Sally hesitates--then, what does she do? She goes to his side and reaches for his hand. To lift him up. To support him. To help meet his needs--even as she acknowledges her own. What Drew has seen as a weakness is his greatest strength. Drew's patient vulnerability has captivated Sally's heart. This, too, is Lupino's strength; the vulnerability of her characters can captivate a viewer's attention--and keep it.
Spotlight on The Bigamist (1953)
Backstory: Ida Lupino was both director and actor (playing Phyllis). Her long-time partner Collier Young both wrote and produced the script. However, Lupino and Young's recent divorce brought with it a sense of deja vu: Young's new wife was Joan Fontaine, who was playing Eve--the other wife of the title character. As Fontaine relates: "Ida and I are old friends.... I knew her before Collier did.... I'm his third wife and Ida is his second.... We're all good friends (p 201, Ida Lupino: A Biography)." According to the same book, Fontaine reported that Louis Hayward (Lupino's first husband) had been asked to take a bit part as a bus driver; Hayward declined (p 201). With The Bigamist, Lupino became the first woman to direct herself in a major motion picture; she was also among the first to tackle the subject of bigamy.
Plot Brief: A traveling salesman, married to a successful, but childless businesswoman, begins a double life when he simultaneously marries a waitress.
Loving the Unlovable
Harry, a refrigerator salesman; Eve, a childless woman; and Phyllis, a work-hardened waitress. These three have more than their middle-class background in common. Who hasn't heard jokes about a traveling salesman? Yet, Harry finds no greater purpose in his work than receiving a paycheck. Likewise, a childless woman is often perceived by society as being devoid of a greater purpose. And the serving class has long consisted of maids, bar-keepers and waitresses. Harry, Eve, and Phyllis are the undesirables; and, as the film progresses, they each become more unlovable. Eve moves from a cold, business-minded female to a woman deceived, yet still in love with her spouse. Phyllis moves from a working woman, alone, to a pregnant woman with an absent husband. And Harry becomes a man convinced by his own self-delusion that his bigamy is a sign of compassion, not selfishness and a reticence to act.
Each person in this triangle avoids the truth. Harry hides his discontent with Eve's non-traditional role in their marriage. Eve runs from her own feelings about wanting children. And Phyllis avoids asking questions about Harry's extended absences. This leads each of them deeper into deception. What is significant about Lupino's treatment is that these characters resist becoming caricatures. Lupino's fondness for her characters--and perhaps, a depth of life experience--constrains what could easily become melodrama. These are everyday people who take the bus or the taxi, not a chauffeured limousine. They are people who speak as daughters, and husbands and neighbors, not poets or wits. They are messy people with lives full of mistakes and regret. They are people we recognize, for we, too, sometimes avoid asking questions because we fear the response.
Spotlight on The Hitch-Hiker (1953)
Backstory: As the music begins, these words fill the screen: "This is the true story of a man and a gun and a car." Gary Johnson, along with various armchair historians, confirms that "this character is based upon drifter William Edward Cook and the news coverage that followed his 1950 murder spree in the Southwest." Though not allowed by censor boards to show the serial killer 'beating the system'--nor even to mention Cook's name in the film--Lupino and Young wrote a script described as both chilling and controversial, particularly in its day. Still, what remains unquestionably poignant is that with The Hitch-Hiker Lupino presents, to date, what many call "the only true film noir directed by a woman."
Plot Brief: A serial killer catches a ride with two unwitting fishing buddies whose spontaneous Mexican roadtrip spirals into an interminable mind-game--at gun-point.
Humanizing the Degraded
The desert landscape is as sparse as the mise-en-scene, and both lend well to a film noir. Lupino's style here is much like Hitchcock's in his early films, such as I Confess. Similarly, what is essential to this film is the psychology that motivates the characters. Like a cat playing with its fuzzy meal before devouring it, Meyers, a hitchhiker on a killing spree, tries to malign the humanity of two friends before killing them. Meyers torments the two about their impending deaths, ridiculing them with thoughts of the families that they'll not see again. He repeatedly pits them against each other. First, he trains a gun on Gill, then has him shoot a can from his buddy Roy's hand. Next, he sets up the duo by mentioning his paralyzed eye that never closes, and taunting them to a risky escape under the cover of darkness. Treating them like wild beasts, not human beings, Meyers attempts to convince the friends that life is about survival at the expense of everything else--including loyalty and compassion.
Meyers's games backfire when, after Roy twists his ankle and the friends' desperate escape attempt fails, Gill won't leave Roy. What Meyers thought would seal his tainted opinion of the world, and let him rationalize his own brutality and seared conscience--the two friends' expected disloyalty and abandonment--doesn't happen. Meyers exalts in the survival of the fittest, in demeaning what is good and right and replacing it with what is expedient; but Gill and Roy don't lend themselves to this. Meyers sees their moral code--their brotherly dedication, quiet persistence and hope--as their downfall. In exchange for remaining together, the friends have gotten tired, they've slowed down; and, in Meyers's mind, they've run out of chances--and time. But, in the end, Meyers must fall prey to his own skewed perspective; it is, to use a clichŽ, the nature of the beast. On the other hand, Gill and Roy have stuck together. In so doing, they've held onto not only their friendship, but their humanity.
Questioning Lupino
Some contemporary viewers question whether Lupino's films adequately consider the issues they bring forth. Further, do the films motivate the audience toward social change? I think a better question begins with the individual. And this beginning depends on how much you identify with Sally--as yourself, as your sister, your daughter, your own young, unwed mother. How disturbed you are by the options of Roy and Gill, and the callousness of their captor. How impacted by their fealty. And how much incongruity you see in Harry's (ir)responsible love for both Eve and Phyllis. Lupino's passion for her characters is evident; for me, this leads to compassion--to a connection with the characters and their proposed world. And to my own.
Yes, these films are decidedly products of a time. Considering the bulk of Lupino's films, this was a time when assembly lines increased production of not only automobiles, but Prozac. A time when housewives were forming lines in not only the supermarket and kitchen appliance store, but in civil rights' marches and employment offices. As novels written in the 1950s--like The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit (1955), The [Incredible] Shrinking Man (1956) and even Peyton Place (1956)--suggest, there was much going on behind the facade of sparkling advertisements and white picket fences. Yes, many things are taken for granted in these films; but many things are also brought into question. And, isn't this one of film's best purposes--to ask questions?
Lupino's strength is in making a viewer think, drawing you into a story, and letting you make your own decisions. Her films have been criticized for being too open-ended, without resolution. Isn't this more true to life than hollow answers or contrived finales? Lupino's films are populated with faulty humans who don't have many answers and, more often than not, have no idea what their future may hold. This sounds familiar to me--uncomfortable, but true to life. Lupino's films instigate questions that linger in a viewer's mind. You must then unravel the dilemmas in your own conscience. This, I believe, is Lupino's purpose, and her passion.
Only Lupino
In the last sentence of Jerry Vermilye's book Ida Lupino, he writes: "In her unwillingness to be defeated by all the thankless roles and the 'schlock' movies, she will, hopefully, realize an opportunity to portray some of the more rewarding aspects of female maturity--and, perhaps, win some of the more tangible accolades long overdue her craft" (p 140). A viewer needn't look far to note the proliferation of leading roles featuring a 'younger woman and older man' duo--for instance, Six Days, Seven Nights, Entrapment or Autumn in New York. Add Hollywood's long-standing bias toward 'hard bodies' and fresh faces and it's not hard to figure why many mature actresses, including a vocal Jamie Lee Curtis, lament the roles presented to them. Yet, with her signature flair and determination, Lupino's role as rough-hewn Elvira in Junior Bonner, though one of her last, was, arguably, her most memorable.
Ida Lupino's father, Stanley, predicted that she would "end up doing what my son would have done. You will write, direct and produce." Her response: "Well, that sounds lovely but ... it scares me. You think I will?" (p 262, Ida Lupino: A Biography). Film scholar Barbara Scharres describes Lupino as displaying "great technical skill and highly imaginative use of the camera" (p 268). Yet, in a life full of ironies, the accomplished director and actress Ida Lupino has never won an Oscar--nor even an Oscar nomination. Though nominated for an Emmy (for Best Continuing Performances by an Actress in a Dramatic Series--'Four Star Playhouse,' CBS), Lupino lost to Joan Fontaine (p 121, Ida Lupino). Sadly, the actress who once described her talent as "just a matter of making the right faces at the right time," died in August 1995 at age seventy-seven (p 216, Ida Lupino: A Biography).
From her acting debut as "the English Jean Harlow" to her transformation into "the poor man's Bette Davis," Ida Lupino has been called many things. Many feminist critics have called her an embarrassment, while her contemporaries dubbed her "the female Hitch." A common, dubious label for her is "Queen of the Bs." Still, as Ally Acker notes, Lupino herself encouraged only one name--the one emblazoned on her black canvas director's chair: "MOTHER OF US ALL." For a small but proud number, that says it all.
Notes:
Donati, William. Ida Lupino: A Biography. Lexington: The University Press of Kentucky, 1996.
Vermilye, Jerry. Ida Lupino. New York: Pyramid Publications, 1977.
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